A Change of Disguise
by Emanium
Summary: Ever since Brucie outed himself as bisexual, he has had boy toys draped all over him in every minute of his social events. Clark finds it hard to not strangle these men.


Clark had been seeing red for most of the party. He reminded himself not to activate heat vision. But for all the control he had mustered, it was as if Rao Himself was testing his patience. He had almost forgotten that his guise should be amiable twenty-four seven. He had forgotten about the notepad he was gripping so tight that the plastic was indented in the shape of a hand. Or the tasty scoop he was meant to investigate.

He was, at the very least, supposed to snap a few pictures of Brucie Wayne and his newest conquests.

It's just that lately, ever since Brucie Wayne has presented himself as bisexual in front of the television, all Clark's been seeing are male decorations hanging off his arms.

Granted, the speculation about Brucie's sexuality had much to do with Clark and his lack of restraint at the back of a semi-public staircase. Bruce managed to shove Clark's face into his neck the moment the camera snapped, but the playboy himself was centered fair and square on the cover of Gotham Gazette. Outing himself as gay would bring suspicions to Brucie's act around pretty ladies for decades, so Brucie went for bisexuality.

 _Which is fine,_ Clark thought. _At least Bruce only acts the part, whereas some others like Stark lives the part. Bruce knows exactly where to cut the line._ He should not be feeling any more insecure than when everyone believed Bruce Wayne was straight.

Except those male decorations were massive, muscular specimens that weighed twenty pounds more than Bruce himself. The sort that _looked_ physically strong enough to overpower Brucie, Bruce, and Batman altogether.

Clark had confronted Bruce once, stating his discomfort, but Bruce had shrugged dismissively.

"Brucie doesn't have the luxury of a bumbling reporter standing offstage, Superman. If my public persona's switching sexualities then I'm going all the way."

He was true to his word.

No more of that mild-mannered ass groping, or ass hovering, that Brucie used to do with his female fans. Every action of his was passionate, physical, screaming need and want and _now_. The men he carried around were bold enough to claw at him like a bunch of hungry hyenas.

Now that Brucie wasn't _just_ flirtatious, weak, emotionally dependent, and straight – everything that Bruce wasn't – it was a little harder for Clark to draw the line between the billionaire playboy and the private, unrelenting individual that he had fucked the living daylights out of in the Watchtower. He wanted to think Bruce was as uncaring to his boy toys as he was to the dozens of supermodels and actresses he was sighted with, but seeing a man as strong and broad-shouldered as himself crawling his dirty hands over Bruce's perfectly sculpted chest was so much harder to ignore.

The night had been a challenge so far. The party started at 7:00 pm. Brucie came in at 8:45 pm, his usual, and made a detour to the kitchen. He left promptly at 9:00 pm with two men draped on his arms. Blew a kiss to the crowds. The half a dozen women following were effectively locked out of the room leading to God knows where.

Clark knew better than to follow Bruce with his x-ray vision. Besides, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what was going on behind those closed doors. _Focus_ , he told himself, walking over to a group of millionaires from Metropolis. If he couldn't get Brucie's attention, he might as well write about people who actually ran their own companies.

Lucius Fox was, unsurprisingly, absent from these events, so Clark shook hands with the first CEO he recognized and started his routine interview.

It was a good distraction, taking notes and listening and writing and taking notes- That was _not_ the sound of skin on skin his super hearing just made out.

Clark nodded numbly and stretched his lips taut into a tight smile. He had no idea what the man had just said, but he reckoned if he bobbed his head forcefully enough, he wouldn't look like his mind was one room away.

It was so easy to imagine Bruce turning down supermodel after supermodel at the entrance of the Wayne manor, so why was his imagination failing him now?

 _Because you know he enjoys it,_ a voice hissed into the jumbled mess of his mind. _You've seen it first hand, Kal._ He had experienced it first hand, he sure did know. He had mapped every inch of Bruce's scarred skin, seen every facet of his damaged body. He had managed to make the world's most controlled individual scream his name on a mattress. _Yet you fear he's enjoying it more without you._

His attention was fractured and split in forty directions when Brucie finally made his reappearance, at precisely 9:20 pm. He looked positively debauched.

Which meant _nothing_ , Clark convinced himself, tasting the venom on his tongue. Brucie always emerged looking deliciously fucked. That was the exact image that would be plastered on the local news the next morning. He was supposed to help his best friend build his public image by taking another high-resolution photo and have it posted on the Daily Planet.

 _Best friend._ He swallowed. They weren't that anymore, since they started sharing the same bed and some bodily fluids. _Lover,_ his mind echoed. It didn't rest well with Clark that Bruce was so nonchalant about their relationship.

Clark picked up his camera and snapped a shot at the billionaire, adjusting the focus to make the boys as blurry as technologically possible. Perry would admonish him in the morning, but that he could live with. Seeing Brucie flash that agonizingly triumphant smile at him, with those knowing eyes – _that_ he could not stand. His camera was shaking, and even Brucie's handsome face went out of focus. The next second he would burn a hole through the blasted viewfinder.

It was as if Bruce was having fun teasing him. He probably was, but he should have known the repercussions of testing a red-blooded alien. For all known personality tests, Kal-El was more human than Batman could ever be.

"Boys, let's give them something worth reporting." Brucie turned to face the man on his right, and good God, that toothpaste commercial smile just turned downright predatory.

The man leaned in eagerly for the kiss. Their lips met halfway, tongues entwined, and Clark felt the button under his finger give, sinking inches lower than its original position with a sickening crack. His throat felt raw, his eyes heating up, his fingers numb.

Watching porn starring the love of your life in vivid, three-dimensional, technicolor cinemascope was maddening, on a scale of global destruction.

Seeing Brucie Wayne plunge his talented tongue down the throat of his alleged boy-toy-of-the-week and _moan_ was the last straw.

Clark's entire camera followed the fate of its button, crumpling like paper with a loud crunching sound.

Before the crowd knew what happened, Clark sped forward and lodged a punch at the man's stomach, drawing a satisfying "Oof!" out of him. Then he gathered Bruce, flew into the room Brucie had reemerged from, and slammed the door behind him. Such was the benefits of super speed. Clark listened to the conversations behind the door and was pleased to note it was all confusion with one particularly painful grunt.

He was drawn back to reality by a heavy tug on his tie. Bruce stalked up to him, his glare cold and furious, and his grip deadly enough to suffocate any human being.

"What the fuck was that?" Bruce hissed. His voice had dropped about one and a half octave and lost all pretence. It was menacing, sounding a lot more like Batman's growl than Brucie's high-pitched giggles. It was the most Brucian thing Clark had heard the entire evening.

"Nothing was jeopardized," Clark shrugged, gently pulling away. Bruce's grip loosened slightly, allowing him to stand straight. "Your toy had no idea what got him."

"You damn near exposed your identity."

Clark opened his mouth to protest, but Bruce gave him another warning glare that shut him up.

"To put icing on the cake, I was posing for the fucking cameras," Bruce snarled. "Tomorrow morning we'll be seeing the blur live on TV, a super speed legend in a borrowed tux moving precisely from reporter Clark Kent's position to strangle the playboy prince of Gotham."

Clark blinked slowly, almost uncomprehending of the accusations thrown on him. "Jesus, Bruce. It's not that bad-"

"Care to explain how Brucie Wayne disappeared within a blink of the eye and his escort got thrown thirty feet across the hall?"

"Look, I overreacted, okay?" Clark explained in frustration, throwing his arms into the air and started pacing. "I'm sorry, but fuck, I'm not sorry. It felt right, and don't you dare say you had no part in-" His shoulders slumped in sudden defeat. Bruce was still regarding him with ice-cold contempt, so he mumbled, "I swear I didn't use super strength."

"That better be the case. Or else Brucie would have to account for a corpse in the middle of the ballroom."

"You're that worried about him." Clark stopped mid-step and stared back. He knew he was being ridiculous. Bruce cared about the man the way Batman cared about a civilian, but every word out of Bruce's mouth was warped and stinging when Clark was wrapped in scorching jealousy, his anger rippling around him in flames.

Bruce was still glaring daggers at him, fiercely unapologetic. "You know you're in the wrong. You're just too cowardly to accept it."

"So I was, I threw that man across the room, but given the situation reversed, that man wouldn't still be _breathing_." Clark swallowed, attempting to lower his voice. It came out like a growl, like Batman's. "You tell me in the face that you didn't see that coming when you were making out with another man in front of my fucking eyes, God damn it!"

"I didn't see that coming when I was making out with another man in front of your fucking eyes, _Superman_." Bruce replied, too smoothly for Clark to retort. "Perhaps the concept of self-control is too far-fetched for an all-powerful alien."

"Right, because we're totally not dating."

"We are," except Bruce's acknowledgement was nowhere near reassuring.

"And?" Clark prompted incredulously. "That's it? No moral code, no nothing? Sexual monogamy, hello?"

Bruce was peering at him like a city boy giving a conservative Midwestern virgin a thorough once-over.

"Great," Clark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling incredibly self-conscious. "So you've got me, and you've got this whole harem waiting for you in a penthouse suite. Which is understandable, because you're _Bruce fucking Wayne_ , and who doesn't want to be fucked senseless by Mister Sex-in-Pants?"

He suddenly felt defeated, cheated, like he poured his whole heart into a relationship and Bruce just filled it to the brim with hydrochloric acid. "And all these years I thought you were different from Stark."

Bruce snorted with faint amusement. "Still is." He shrugged, contemplating. "My butler has a secret recipe to making the perfect hot chocolate."

Clark almost refrained from answering, almost made it to the start of a cold war. Still he retorted, "You think Jarvis doesn't?"

"Alfred's hot chocolate is the best and you know it." Bruce sounded just a bit defensive.

He waited half a second for Clark's expression to soften, but it didn't. He didn't wear his usual heartbroken, puppy-eyed look, so Bruce silently braced himself for a fight and angry sex.

"Clark," he began, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked up. "You could have given me a warning. A heads-up."

"Me? _I_ give _you_ a warning?" Clark repeated it like it was the most unbelievable phrase in the world, and Bruce just sighed. "Well you know what? I think Perry's DSLR that I just ground to dust is warning enough."

Bruce cocked his head to the side in a half no-biggie Brucie way, with a generous helping of "For God's sake, will you calm the fuck down."

"It's been ten years since you've known my civilian persona, and since when have you _not_ accepted it as is? How am I supposed to catch your oh-so-subtle super-speed camera-crushing little feat and instantly _know_ that your homophobic ass can't stand the sight of me sticking my tongue down a man's throat while me eating out Talia is all fucking right?"

Bruce crossed his arms, shushing Clark with his glare at least twice during his sentence. "I didn't get the fucking memo, Clark. Then you flip out in the middle of my fucking party and slam my camera-friendly partner halfway to the afterworld. That's not cool. That's fucking unacceptable."

Clark's brain wasn't engineered to take in the hilarity of Bruce learning to say "not cool" from Dick and all forms of "fuck" from Jason along with the whole Princeton sentence structure and the nonchalant brush off of _camera-friendly partner_ because camera-friendly partners don't get to fuck you six ways to heaven when you're _off-camera-_

"Unacceptable?" Clark finally came to, as he echoed emptily. "Are you serious? You think it's acceptable that I watch you thrust your tongue down some lucky man's throat and pretend I'm okay with it? That's what you think? Just because I'm holy Superman I'm supposed to have some inhumane control over my emotions and I'm not allowed to get jealous?"

Clark stepped forward and held Bruce's gaze, "I'm no saint, Bruce. I try, God knows I try, but I can't."

He forced the slighter man onto the bed with a shove he knew marked Bruce with handprints on a molecular level. Forbidden was the idea that Bruce had been in this very room, with those two men who probably enjoyed double penetrating him. Because Clark knew that as much of a demonic alpha male Batman portrayed himself to be, Bruce was a bottom in bed through and through. Not weak, but seductive, controlling, and demanding. Always beautifully demanding. Just the thought of some other man laying him down and claiming what Clark owned made his stomach lurch.

Bruce was silent on his way down, falling unceremoniously against softness with two hundred pounds of dense muscle on top of him. Yet the moment his back hit the mattress, he propped himself up defiantly with his forearms, straining against Clark's hold. Because Bruce and Brucie might want Clark to claim them in a bout of fiery passion, but the stubborn Bat wouldn't yield to Superman just yet.

Those condescending eyes conveyed as much despite Bruce's unreadable face. _If you're going to do it, why don't you pin me down with your super strength, you big blue oaf._

Clark did exactly what Bruce's eyes dared him to, pinning his wrists against the mattress with a strength he reserved for supervillains. His hold was cutting off circulation, bruising him, and for once reminding Bruce of his human fragility. His never using super strength against Bruce was an unspoken rule. It would be considered a violation, a breach of trust. It was unacceptable. But clearly they had a vastly different understanding of acceptability.

Bruce was breathing shallower, and his heart rate was steadily rising. When he spoke, his voice was still cold, not a single syllable betraying his emotions. "If you can't maintain control around me, I can't trust you to fight for our world."

"You're the only person that I lose control over, Bruce." Clark whispered softly, his voice raw with emotion. "You know that." He felt the hitch of Bruce's breath, the struggling hands now still.

"You almost injured a civilian." Bruce muttered, his tone part reprimanding, part forgiving, with just a trace of selfish, guilty satisfaction that he knew Clark wouldn't catch.

Clark snorted, feeling a little more lighthearted as he regained control. "Yes, he's retching his lunch into the toilet bowl, as of now. There's a bruise, but nothing permanent."

"Care to tell me why?"

"God Bruce, you need me to spell it out?"

There was a silent glare on Bruce's part, and Clark heaved a heavy, weary sigh.

"He was touching you, kissing you, and then- then you left, and when you came back out, your hair was wild. There were bites around your neck. Your lips were swollen from-" Clark's heart rate was spiking again, and he could hear the poison seeping into his voice. "With the girls it was easier, knowing you had no interest in them, and to hell what the social media says. But the guys, I can't deal with it. It's too… real. It was a secret between us."

"Was," Bruce emphasized. "Whose fault was it that Brucie was outed?" He raised an accusing eyebrow.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm not feeling very rational right now. I just- If I walk back out there, I'm going to hurt someone. I know it." Clark shook his head. "I want you so bad, please let me take you, right here, right now. I can't deal with anyone else running their hands down your chest, touching you here, there, anywhere."

"Clark-" Bruce trailed off warningly, but his eyebrows were softening just a fraction. "My name is going to make the headlines tomorrow."

"Yes, and it'll go like this, 'Wayne kidnapped by aliens during annual fundraiser dinner, returned safely after JLA negotiation'. Guess what, Superman is going to release the news himself, and Lois is going to snap some flattering photos. It's going to be a field day for the press." Clark absently undid the buttons on Bruce's shirt, mindful of the expensive material, until at some point he lost it and yanked it off in shreds.

"You owe me the entire attire, plus the difference in this year's funds compared to last year's." Bruce said blandly. Only his eyes betrayed his quiet amusement.

Clark stared back incredulously. "I ripped the shirt and I have to pay for the pants and jacket as well?"

"And the belt. I assumed they would be smeared in semen." There was just a touch of wry humor in his voice, and Clark found that he couldn't disagree.

"You are the world's greatest detective." He lowered himself to kiss those soft, swollen lips. Bruce arched into the kiss, battling his tongue with full force, drinking in his taste and all the ugly emotions that marred Superman's judgment for a terrifying, blinding second.

"Rao," Clark groaned, pulling away, "To think that you've shared those lips with other men-"

"I'm usually not that responsive."

Clark tried to keep that image locked away, and instead palmed Bruce's groin with one hand, while fumbling with his fly with his other. Bruce was half-hard from the kiss. With a few strokes, his erection was straining against the fabric of his trousers. Clark quickly undid Bruce's belt, unzipped his pants, and carelessly discarded them onto the floor. He was going to pay for them anyway, so why not?

Bruce was watching him like a hawk, his eyes still clear and analytical despite his complete nakedness.

Clark was going to remedy that. He pulled his own erection out and stroked himself to full length, allowing the beads of pre-cum to drop onto Bruce's toned abdomen.

"Where do you keep the lube? Don't lie about not having them here."

Bruce rolled his eyes and gestured to a side cabinet. "Second drawer, white tube."

Clark was back before Bruce's eyes could register, squeezing the tube empty onto his hand, then lubing his hand and his cock. He put his finger on Bruce's puckered hole and applied the lube around the rim, before gently pressing in. There was a short grunt on Bruce's part, followed by what sounded like a suppressed moan.

"Come on, you can moan louder than that." Clark pushed his finger all the way in, enjoying the sensations from the clenching flesh. He lowered himself to kiss Bruce's chest, lingering around the nipple, drawing patterns with his tongue.

Bruce had thrown his head back and his low moans had escalated into panting that he was desperately trying to control. He almost lost that and bit his lower lip hard when Clark bit his nipple, so hard that if he had clenched his teeth any more, he would have drawn blood.

"Let me hear it," Clark demanded quietly, squeezing another finger into Bruce's tight hole, stretching the space in preparation. "What do the other men hear when they fuck you like this, huh?"

Bruce did not respond, merely bit his lip until they tasted of blood and shook his head. He started stroking himself, mindful of Clark's fingers pressing into him, and trying to time his strokes with the motion in his ass.

Clark was using more strength than he usually allowed himself. It had not been a long established relationship, and Clark had been exploratory, testing Bruce's tolerance bit by bit. Each time he was one step closer to the line that defined earth-shattering orgasm where anything beyond was torturous pain. Now his fingers were pumping fast and strong, with a hint of bitterness, of revenge. Yet beneath the surface of pain Bruce's body was rising to the challenge, enjoying it more than he should with this level of roughness.

Clark thrust three fingers into Bruce and felt his strong muscles clench around them reflexively, and God he wanted to put his cock where his fingers were. He pulled them out, wet with lube, and before Bruce could react, he thrust his hard cock into the heat, burying his entire length in Bruce. He was rewarded with a throaty cry of surprise. The heat was all wrapped around him, unforgivingly clenching, and he could almost come with the first few thrusts. With an iron will he bit back his orgasm and continued thrusting.

Bruce was gripping the sheets so hard he was tearing them at places. There were finger-sized holes where he clawed, and the sheets were rumpled under him. Then Clark remembered that the sheets were perfectly made up when they first came in, but it was too hard a concept to grasp with his cock balls-deep in Bruce's sweet juicy ass-

Bruce was thrusting back, meeting him at the hips, and God did Clark love it when he was responsive and controlling. Clark pulled all the way out and plunged into the depths of warmth again, earning himself a real, audible moan of pleasure from the man beneath him. He watched those penetrating dark eyes turn glassy – not vacant like Brucie's – but truly lost in the moment. Bruce looked like he was clinging to a lifeline, caught between intense pain and pleasure. He was just mesmerizing, just amazingly delicious, and it took all of Clark's might to not devour him entirely.

He pulled out and gave one last powerful thrust, burying his cock in Bruce's depth and watched as hot white cum shot out of Bruce's cock in a full arc. Then he shuddered and stilled, his own balls pulsing against Bruce's hole, pumping all of his cum into his ass.

Clark sprawled onto Bruce and they laid in companionable silence. It lasted until Bruce rolled out from under Clark's weight with a displeased grunt, as if he hadn't just come undone from mind-blowing sex.

Clark managed a small smile, "You're going back to the party?"

"No," came the answer. "You said you'd cover for me."

Clark nodded. "First thing tomorrow morning."

"Then I'm calling Alfred." Bruce fished out a mobile phone from the first drawer and made a call, where Superman could vaguely make out "I'm fine", "Superman", and "complete moron" without deliberately listening in on their conversation. Most of the time, blocking out his super hearing with Bruce could help him avoid a few hurtful jabs.

Clark scooted over when Bruce returned to the bed. "How's Alfred?"

"Not pleased that I abandoned my own party, not to mention it was a fundraiser for Gotham orphanages. Remember, you owe me."

"Thanks for the reminder," Clark grimaced, knowing that would cost him more than a year's savings. The sandwich diet seemed inevitable.

"Whatever you do, don't follow Dick's diet." Bruce eyed him warily.

"Cereal brunch and dinner?"

Bruce grimaced. "It'll kill you faster than Kryptonite."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Your act kills me faster than Kryptonite."

Bruce flipped the covers and laid down next to Clark with the ease of a husband who had shared half a century of his life with his partner. _The man can act,_ Clark thought, and that jerked Clark's memory of the playboy's performance from earlier that evening.

"Hey," Clark scooted closer, running a hand through Bruce's ruffled hair. "What were you doing in this room anyway?"

"You have x-ray vision." Bruce replied evenly.

"I didn't use it on you." Clark admitted, though he had seriously thought about it. But if J'onn didn't violate people's privacy by listening on their thoughts, Clark shouldn't either. X-ray vision and super hearing, though less telltale, were little different from telepathy.

Bruce sighed, "The one time you should have used it, and you didn't."

"Tell me then, were they really fucking your brains out, or did I just imagine it? Cause I was hearing sounds that matched a truly disturbing image in my mind and I couldn't let it go."

"What did the bed sheets say?" Bruce sounded weary as he subconsciously reached out to flatten the sheets under his body. "Well?"

Clark's face had grown red under his scrutiny. "That you didn't."

"The boys were kissing there," Bruce pointed at the couch on one side of the room, "and I was updating Watchtower security protocols there." He pointed at the single-seater on the other end.

"Jesus, really?" Clark pulled his hand down his face, groaning. He was determinedly not going to show how relieved he was, or how embarrassed. "How does Brucie get away with this?"

"I had them convinced that I was videotaping their activities for my private entertainment."

"That's it?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow cynically. "You call a pair of glasses sufficient disguise, yet you question the credibility of my civilian persona?"

"Can you please go back to dating women?" Clark pleaded.

"Bisexuality is not a phase that I grow out of, Clark."

"Technically, you're gay."

"Yes, but Brucie's reputation doesn't need him to be a phobic ass weaving in and out of various sexualities."

"Fine," Clark sighed. He lowered himself to brush against those swollen lips, tasting the blood where Bruce had bit himself hard. "You don't deny kissing them though, do you?"

"That was necessary."

Clark sighed. "I miss the days when I was just competing with Selina and Vicki."

"Diana." Bruce prompted, counting off his fingers. "And Zatanna."

"No," Clark chuckled, shaking his head. "Leave the Leaguers out of this. Regardless of you being gay or not, I don't think I can ever compete with Wonder Woman."

"You're always the winner, Superman." Bruce cooed in his sweet Brucie voice.

"At times I can't feel it," Clark muttered to himself. "Why can't you just say you're in a stable relationship, and to hell with the playboy reputation?"

Bruce was looking ready to brush him off, so Clark continued hurriedly, "Hey, not to be offending or anything, but you're hitting thirty-five, yeah? That's about the right age to settle down, or the public's going to be very interested in your eternally overactive libido."

There was an odd pause from the other man, until quietly he uttered, "Whom do you suggest?"

"I don't know, Superman?" Clark watched Bruce's eyebrows furrow, and anticipated the retort that was forming at his lips. "Just kidding. How about… Clark Kent?"

"You own the Daily Planet _and_ my apartment building, so it isn't that incredible, is it?" Clark continued. "Just two opposites like day and night, dorky reporter and playboy CEO, put together like two puzzle pieces with a perfect fit."

That garnered a considering expression from Bruce. Clark nudged him again, hopefully, until Bruce shut his eyes in quiet contemplation, probably running a million and one things that could go wrong if they exposed their relationship, even in their civilian identities. For one, Superman and Batman would be ridiculed to no end by the League, especially by the founding members. Although, Clark thought, half the League could probably guess the nature of their relationship long before their announcement.

Finally, Bruce opened his eyes and shrugged. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Clark repeated, dumbfounded. "Wow, you've considered it."

"Pending, but I will notify you if I decide that your proposal is worth the risk." There was a quick twitch at the corner of his lips, and only a handful of people knew that was Bruce's version of a smirk. "But for all that we've considered, only one headline about us is making it to the Daily Prophet tomorrow."

"Yes," Clark leaned in for another kiss. "Superman saves the prince of Gotham from mysterious kidnapping and upsets the stomach of Wayne's boy-toy-of-the-week."

"By Clark Kent."


End file.
